Home in Glory
by Ergo Ipso Facto
Summary: Skrimir returns to Gallia after the failed campaign. His uncle has words for him. (Written in 2012 for a kink meme prompt)


Skrimir stalked through the castle, ears flat, tail low. He shoved past another curtain – and realized he'd probably been spending too much time with beorc, because it wasn't nearly as satisfying as kicking a door down. They'd never had doors in Castle Gallia, aside from the front gates, because it was stupid to have to go from beast form to man form just to go into the next room.

But he really wished there were doors. So he could smash them.

He thought about going back and seeing what damage he could do to the main gate. But a warrior didn't turn back. He snarled, mostly to himself, and kept walking. The other Gallians in the halls scattered before him like chaff, whether fearing his wrath or wanting safe distance from his disgrace.

He pushed aside the last curtain. Caineghis was waiting, a huge black shadow against the morning glare through the window.

"General Skrimir."

"Uncle."

"This is not the reunion we planned."

"No." Skrimir bared his teeth and glowered at the floor. The words came with difficulty: "I've… failed."

"You cost us much. The other tribes have no reason to thank you, either," said Caineghis. Skrimir bit his tongue, but could not stop his tail lashing the air. "And in your retreat, you nearly caused an incident with Goldoa as well. Do not think anyone will overlook that."

"That was not my doing," Skrimir snapped, raising his eyes. "Deghinsea is a pompous, scaly old –"

"And he is a king, which you are not. You owe him respect. When a king tells you to remove your armies from his territory, that is what you do."

"It would have meant death for all of my men! I will not –"

"And where was that consideration for your men when you abandoned all strategy to fight a foolish duel?" Caineghis advanced. "Is that how a general behaves? Are those the actions of someone who would rule Gallia?"

"I should not have lost."

"You should not have accepted."

Skrimir lowered his head. "I know," he growled. "But at least if I hadn't lost –"

Caineghis raised a heavy fist and cuffed him just over the ear, hard enough to make him stagger. _"You should not have accepted._ Are you a cub, to run off so thoughtlessly and destroy all our plans?"

"But he challenged me," said Skrimir, straightening. "Do you think so little of my honor that –"

"I thought much more of your brains."

"I was rash," he said. "I nearly doomed us all. I –"

"If you're still saying 'but,' it's clear you haven't learned anything. You were _stupid_. I may need to look for a new successor."

"No!"

"Why shouldn't I?"

"I…" Skrimir clenched his fists. "I'll fix this. Let me lead Gallia again. I'll show you what I can do. I have learned." He thought of the beorc strategist. Yes. As long as he left the thinking to that one, everything would be fine. Should have listened all along. He'd been an idiot.

But he couldn't have listened before; he'd had no reason to. What kind of warrior would let someone else tell him how to fight? Who would walk away from a challenge?

He shook his head. Maybe there were times one had to put one's pride aside. He'd heard it said before, though he'd dismissed such thinking as cowardice. "I won't disappoint you again."

Caineghis made an adjustment to his mantle. "Once was enough." And then he dropped to the floor on four paws. Grimly, Skrimir transformed as well and went to meet him.

They circled. Skrimir eyed his uncle warily, fangs bared and claws out. The king displayed neither claws nor teeth; there was no need to show one's weapons to an obvious inferior. Skrimir hunched his shoulders and paced and waited for the first blow. This would not end quickly. He'd be lucky to get away without a maiming. No doubt he deserved one.

Caineghis roared: _I am king._

Skrimir answered with a tail-twitch and a faint growl: _Yes, but._

Caineghis lunged. His foreclaws raked Skrimir's muzzle. Skrimir snapped at him, tore out a mouthful of his uncle's mane, but didn't find flesh.

They disengaged. Circled again. _You will submit, _Caineghis said, with his eyes and his fangs and his tail.

_I know. But not easily._

This time he was ready. Caineghis came at him. He rose onto his hind legs and slammed into him and they grappled, snarling and snapping. Caineghis drew blood again. Skrimir raised a hind foot, claws extended, and –

Caineghis felt the shift in his balance and pushed him over, landing with a paw on his throat. _I am king._

But Skrimir was stronger than the king remembered. He rolled out from under him, scrabbled to his feet, launched himself at Caineghis's back. Caineghis tried to bat him away, but that wouldn't work anymore. Skrimir took the blow to the chest, but didn't stop, bearing Caineghis to the floor, drawing a gash down his side.

One solid blow. That was as well as he'd ever done. He roared a joyless triumph.

And with seemingly no effort, Caineghis flipped him over. They rolled. Skrimir couldn't get his feet under him. He kicked upward, catching Caineghis in the belly, but not hard enough to move him. Caineghis smacked him in the mouth. Skrimir got a forepaw free, kicked out with his hind feet again, and threw Caineghis off him. Not any great distance, though.

Skrimir was strong; he'd been even stronger before he'd had to come home in disgrace. If he did not get up quickly enough to press his advantage, it was because of his wounds. That was all. He rolled onto his feet, and Caineghis had time to do the same. They circled.

Fights like this didn't last long, normally. Combatants traded a few blows and went their separate ways. Gallia was large enough for that. But the combatants were not usually the king and his worst general.

The castle resounded for over an hour with their roaring, their heavy footfalls, the sound of lions slamming into walls and hitting the floor. Caineghis landed three blows to every one of Skrimir's. That seemed fair. Caineghis was not the one who had accepted a bad challenge and lost. He was not the one who had done any of those other stupid things, either.

Skrimir tried to get up and go another round, but he couldn't hold this form anymore. He slipped, shamefully, back into man form. Caineghis, with a courtesy that only caused Skrimir further shame, shifted as well.

"I was wrong, uncle," said Skrimir. He sat bleeding and staring at the floor. All he had accomplished was nothing. His pride as a warrior was nothing. He had nearly destroyed the Alliance, nearly cost them the war, nearly killed their army – and all that might yet still come to pass. He slammed a fist into the floor and felt one of his knuckles give. "I let Gallia down. I let _you_ down."

Caineghis said nothing, and Skrimir didn't look at him. But he heard him getting up, so he rose to his feet as well, grimacing, trying to conceal the struggle that entailed.

"You're hurt," Caineghis said at last.

The older injuries he would deny; the newer ones he couldn't, not without insulting the person who'd rightly inflicted them. "I'll wear these wounds as a reminder –"

Caineghis cuffed him over the head again. Skrimir did not react, though he had no idea what that had even been for. "You are my general," said Caineghis, "and my successor, and my nephew. That has not changed."

"Uncle –"

"Gallia needs you strong, and so do I."

"I understand."

There was a long silence.

"I don't think you understand how nearly that beorc killed you," said Caineghis.

"I do," Skrimir said bleakly.

Caineghis pulled him into a crushing hug. The matter was settled.


End file.
